People often ask how we find our stories. There are many ways: Sometimes they come recommended, sometimes people recommend themselves, and other times we stumble upon them. McGrath’s is the latter. I had been looking for someone in Ireland to show us a blood pudding recipe using real blood (I know, the vegetarian…). Though blood pudding is a very common dish in Ireland, finding someone making it in the traditional way of using fresh blood (and willing to show you their secrets) is not.

My initial googling lead to an article about a local chef discussing his favorite butcher who happened to make the famous dish. That butcher wasn’t in the right location (we were looking for someone in Ireland’s Ancient East), but it lead me in a new direction of searching for blood pudding in butcher shops. Almost immediately I saw an article about Michael McGrath — an old school butcher whose business had been in the family since the 1600s. He had his own abattoir and he made blood pudding. It could work.

Or it could not work. At this point his story was just a lead, and in my experience those have a way of falling through. He could be too accustomed to publicity and unnatural on camera, his business could have closed or changed or simply be different than it seemed on paper — or he could not want us to come visit. All had happened before.

I enlisted Daniel to call Mr. McGrath and feel out the story, as I sat in an adjacent room and tried to decipher his inflection. Within 10 minutes, he came back smiling: “I couldn’t understand a lot of what he was saying because of his thick accent. He’s perfect. We’re heading there tomorrow.”

The McGrath’s abattoir was attached to their butcher shop. That’s something you just don’t see very often anymore in Ireland. They also raise their own cattle. So this small family business was farming, slaughtering, butchering, aging and selling their own meat. Their son John was getting married in a few days and would be off on his honeymoon that weekend. The only day to film was the following (ie. tomorrow). Daniel asked if we could come visit and Michael replied: “If ye like”.

This story — their story — had the feeling of being a very authentic, traditional operation. The shop’s cash register was located in its own alcove and managed by his wife Mary, whom you could chat with through the window; the family lived above the butcher shop as was the norm in years past. Furthermore, the McGraths were just going about their lives doing what past generations had done for hundreds of years. Their way of life wasnt for publicity. They woke up in their small town every morning, tended to the animals at the farm, butchered the meat, and helped out their loyal customers.

Daniel and Hunter set out the next morning for the 2 hour drive to meet the McGraths. Turns out they don’t make blood pudding. Turns out, it didn’t matter.

Probably the most asked question during our two months in Ireland from farmers and fishermen, chefs and hunters has been, “so what do you think of Trump?” No joke — every single Irish person I’ve talked to for more than 30 seconds has broached the subject. My response always (except once) received a: “Oh thank God, it’s madness isn’t it?!” (the Irish public has been polled on Trump and he only has 6% support here).

We had been excited to not be around for the election madness. We thought that in Ireland we would have a little peace from the onslaught of “news”… but it is a global phenomenon and Ireland, with its rich and deep ties to the US, fancies itself at the heart of the race.

So as we finish up our last few days in this fine land, and head home to our own country (where the Irish were once hated immigrants) to vote on the 8th, I just needed to use my small internet presence to encourage folks to vote. As any new father, I can see the future where my child asks “what did you do?” I’ll say, “I ran away to Ireland, and then I blogged about it.” A pathetic response maybe, but better than nothing.

I think our show has always been pretty balanced — it provides perspectives that appeal to all types of people. So I imagine to have some Trump, Hillary and Bernie or Bust folks that tune in from time to time. I’m proud of that. I know that if you watch this show, you understand the value of nature and of relationships, of real people, of work and a general love of life. So even if you are considering Trump, I know it is for a reason other than you “like him”.

All this is to say, I don’t have anything new to bring to the conversation. I’m just adding my name to the list of people who are asking you to vote in a way that that will keep Trump out of office: for my Son, for Mexicans, for Women, for Muslims, for the LGBTQ community, for Immigrants, for America… and for the Irish.

]]>http://www.theperennialplate.com/blog/2016/11/trump-in-ireland/feed/16http://www.theperennialplate.com/blog/2016/11/trump-in-ireland/Hunting with Mirrahttp://feedproxy.google.com/~r/ThePerennialPlateBlog/~3/vJz5cJ0c3Mw/
http://www.theperennialplate.com/blog/2016/10/hunting-with-mirra/#respondSun, 30 Oct 2016 15:01:44 +0000http://www.theperennialplate.com/?p=3936Last week we went to Ballyvolane House in East Cork. We were visiting to film a story about Gin made from Cow’s-milk whey in the barn of an old country house, and while we were there, they were to do their first bird shoot of the year. Justin Green was our host for the gin and the duck/partridge drive.

Filming the shoot presented a question about what kind of stories we tell in our series and where “sustainable” begins and ends. I’ve always considered our show to be less about the answer, and more about presenting different points of view, and so I was curious to hear the point of view on the ethics of shooting birds for food (and sport).

If you aren’t familiar, there is a tradition in Ireland and the UK of raising birds so that they can be hunted in the fall. In its best scenario, it is like a free range farm in the woods and fields, where birds are semi-wild — meaning they can come and go as they please, but by providing them with food, they tend to come back. Instead of being gathered and slaughtered like in a farm setting, the birds are driven from their hiding and directed to fly over a group of shooters. You may have seen something like it in Dowton Abbey. It is quite an affair, where everyone is dressed up in traditional hunting gear, beautiful pure bred dogs and their trainers are standing by, and everyone breaks for sloe gin and charcuterie in between shoots. Lots of people hate it. There have been cases where game keepers have poisoned predators to keep the number of birds high. Other stories abound where drunk bankers go out for a laugh just to shoots some birds with no intention of eating them. Sometimes birds are shot and lost in the woods (although those dogs are there exactly for the purpose of avoiding that scenario).

Given all this, I wanted to see it from the perspective of someone who was “doing it right”. And I was impressed by Justin Green’s take. He couldn’t justify the killing, as he understood that part of the shoot was tradition, fun and camaraderie and that the life of these birds was the price for that enjoyment. With a heavy heart, he is trying to do his best for the the birds and that has to do with conservation. Of 1,000 young birds released into the woods, they only end up shooting about 400 of them (if that). So, each year they are adding to the population of “wild” birds. This also allows them to preserve their land so that isn’t farmed — providing cover crops for the game as well as other wild species. Finally, they are raising a very healthy food that has a great life. Unlike chickens stuffed into tiny cages, these birds live their lives in the trees and fields of Cork. When the birds are eventually shot, Ballyvolane house serves the meat to their guests at their bed and breakfast and at all the hunts. Every bird shot will be eaten.

I named this blog hunting with Mirra, because I was intending to share how difficult this was for her to film (a duck fell from the sky and landed with a thump right at her feet), but instead I got lost in explaining why it might be ok for us to make a film out of this story. Just as Justin needed to justify shooting birds, I need to justify shooting this. I’m sure many people will be upset with the film when it comes out in a couple months, but as with most issues of animals and their deaths, I think it is important not to go black and white, but to try listen for a second and look to those who are providing a good example instead of just saying “No”.

]]>http://www.theperennialplate.com/blog/2016/10/hunting-with-mirra/feed/0http://www.theperennialplate.com/blog/2016/10/hunting-with-mirra/How I learned to stop flying and Hate the Dronehttp://feedproxy.google.com/~r/ThePerennialPlateBlog/~3/uk9ceqRC-ME/
http://www.theperennialplate.com/blog/2016/10/how-i-learned-to-stop-flying-and-hate-the-drone/#commentsFri, 21 Oct 2016 14:38:05 +0000http://www.theperennialplate.com/?p=3930I purchased a drone before embarking on our latest series of films in Colorado. Before the actual purchase, I went down the worm hole of internet shopping, research, reviews and comparisons. It’s an endless and painful process that can take days from your life. I ended up with the DJI Phantom 3. It arrived in a shiny white box at my doorstep a few days later, and it was amazing. I became a little kid again; spending hours with an arched neck, looking up into the sky and practicing for my flights in the mountains. I called my friends and family members to come over and take a crack at it.

The drone served us well for a while: It cruised over cattle ranches, through scenic valleys, along rivers and over houses. I began to think only in drone. Why take a shot from the ground if you could take it from the air? But a month into our trip, as you may recall, that drone crashed. It was completely my fault — as I had gotten a bit cocky that day, flying the drone through a patch of trees. I went online that evening, with tail between my legs, and ordered a replacement for our fallen soldier with a new upgraded version. Sadly, a few days later, the new drone flew off into the mountains with nary a “goodbye” or “so long”. I hiked through the mountains, yelling its name, trying to locate its GPS signal. But when I arrived at its noted destination — exhausted and eager to be reunited — there was no drone. DJI offered to replace that one out of error. Since it wouldn’t be able to arrive until after our Colorado trip had finished, I had the replacement shipped to Ireland, imagining the shots along the Cliffs of Moher and over castles. Sadly, that never happened. After a second drone flight in Ireland along the turf bogs of Donegal, our new friend flew off. Again I tracked it down, traipsing through the heather toward its GPS signal. Again, no drone. Since this was again, an obvious machine error (as opposed to human error) I thought DJI would replace it, but this time they decided that it was the wind’s fault. I would have to buy another drone if I wanted to film and fly.

I abstained. Perhaps it is the appearance of drone shots in every single video I watch on TV or online. Perhaps it was the money. Perhaps it was the fact that Ireland is a windy and wild place, and the locations where I wanted to film, just can’t handle a drone flight. Perhaps it was a relief to let go of some gear and focus on the filmmaking. When you have a video camera, a still camera, a gopro, an iPhone and a drone all trying to document what’s around you, sometimes you lose sight of what you are doing — capturing a real and true story. So drones: it was nice while it lasted, but at this moment in my filmmaking career, I think

These days, when we venture out on a shoot with neither a babysitter nor Hunter, Daniel and I split up the work: One of us films our intended subject while the other watches the baby. Last week, Daniel went up the mountain in the Burren with a sheep farmer while James and I stayed back on the farm. Within a few minutes, he had changed into his wellies and was running through the open fields while the farm dogs trailed close behind. For the next couple of hours that farm was our playground. James discovered horse manure, climbed on the tractor, mooed at the cows and growled at the sheep. He fell in the mud, stumbled on the rocky dirt road, and had his diaper changed a couple of times in the back of the car. He squealed when he noticed the cat watching him from her perch on the warm chimney, and he munched on biscuits and butter made by the farmer’s wife. He slept the whole ride home and didn’t even realize that he was the luckiest boy in the world.

]]>http://www.theperennialplate.com/blog/2016/10/film-shoots-with-baby/feed/3http://www.theperennialplate.com/blog/2016/10/film-shoots-with-baby/Cliffs of Moherhttp://feedproxy.google.com/~r/ThePerennialPlateBlog/~3/FrXKsLgQb2k/
http://www.theperennialplate.com/blog/hunter/2016/10/cliffs-of-moher/#respondWed, 12 Oct 2016 21:32:21 +0000http://www.theperennialplate.com/?p=3901These rocks are photographed literally thousands of times a day… still worth another look.

]]>http://www.theperennialplate.com/blog/hunter/2016/10/cliffs-of-moher/feed/0http://www.theperennialplate.com/blog/hunter/2016/10/cliffs-of-moher/On Cooking in Irelandhttp://feedproxy.google.com/~r/ThePerennialPlateBlog/~3/l8JN5xVkxwI/
http://www.theperennialplate.com/blog/2016/10/on-cooking-in-ireland/#commentsSun, 02 Oct 2016 14:25:44 +0000http://www.theperennialplate.com/?p=3881In our past travels for The Perennial Plate, we went out to eat three times a day, or ate at the homes of those we were filming with. It was wonderful. From eating in Modena, Italy at what is now rated the world’s best restaurant; to a cave in the mountains of Morocco; to a ramen shop in Tokyo where you eat alone in a booth — there was always an incredible food experience to be had. We don’t do that anymore. James happened. As many of you know, eating out with a toddler doesn’t have the same appeal as eating out with a friend or your partner. It is worth doing from time to time, but to eat out three times a day would be madness — especially if you want to feed your child healthy food (if anyone orders french fries at the table, all other options go out the window).

In Ireland, instead of eating out, we are shopping for great local ingredients, and eating from home. We do however have one large advantage: our airbnb happens to have an acre-sized kitchen garden, a dozen apple trees, and alpine strawberries growing in the cracks of the various pathways. So we go out and shop, but rarely for fruit or veg. For that we pick from the Burton House gardens 20 minutes before dinner… not bad. Our food is also supplemented by the wonderful places we film. Whether it is bringing back a few crab from a fishing trip or some beef shin from a butcher story, there is usually a little extra something that makes the food go even further.

I’ve been pretty happy with the meals we’ve been making, so I thought I’d post a few pics of the garden and dishes derived from idea recipes in case you want to try them out.

First we have an amazing way to finish off the last of summer flavors that lead into fall. Mirra made a tart crust (just flour, butter and water) that we baked on its own. Id added the filling. For the base of the tart I mixed the amounts I had left of creme fraiche and chèvre along with minced shallot, tarragon, parsley and salt. Then I just stuck raspberries and halved tomatoes at random into the tart until it was packed tight. Garnished with the many edible flowers in the garden along with a drizzle of olive oil and some Maldon salt.

Below are the gardens that we harvest from… and Dermot, the head gardener.

Hakurei turnips that i seared in butter then added some thyme and dry apple cider from a local orchard, then baked in the oven for about 20 minutes.

A collection of salads, my favorite of which was blanched green beens tossed with sauerkraut, lemon juice and bean flowers, also roasted potatoes with yogurt and fennel seeds/flowers.

For the first half of our stay in Ireland, we are living in a beautiful, 400 year old stable house about an hour outside of Dublin. Our backdoor opens to a trove of apple trees. Ever since we arrived, I’ve been anxious to take advantage of this amazing bounty and start baking. Unfortunately, the house isn’t yet stocked with the necessary baking supplies (rolling pin, measuring cups, mixing bowls…). Luckily, my mom was in town recently, and showed me how to make due (and make apple pie) with found items.

Step 1: The dough recipe called for 1 1/4 cup flour. Using baby James’ sippy cups (which were labeled in Ounces
) we were able to figure out that this glass held just the right amount:

Step 2: Find a suitable pot to use as a mixing bowl. Add the flour and 10 tablespoons of Kerry Gold Butter. Combine and set aside:

Step 5: We needed to add a teaspoon of cinnamon. Since we didn’t have any measuring spoons, I figured an actual tea spoon could do the trick. It may have been a little off, but the pie didn’t suffer:

Step 6: To add 2 tablespoons of flour, I used an actual table spoon, twice.

Step 7: juice of one small lemon, and a pinch of salt.

Step 8: With the filling ready to go, now I just needed to roll out the dough. We had a spare empty wine bottle. So my mom suggested I use that.

Step 9: The house comes complete with an Aga oven. Not knowing the exact temperature, I placed it in the “hotter” door, and checked on it after 45 minutes.

And here’s the result. So good and so easy. I’ve already made it twice since.

]]>http://www.theperennialplate.com/recipes/2016/09/a-recipe-for-wine-bottle-pie/feed/3http://www.theperennialplate.com/recipes/2016/09/a-recipe-for-wine-bottle-pie/Irish Landscapeshttp://feedproxy.google.com/~r/ThePerennialPlateBlog/~3/P5d1BevBVx0/
http://www.theperennialplate.com/blog/hunter/2016/09/irish-landscapes/#commentsSat, 24 Sep 2016 13:25:30 +0000http://www.theperennialplate.com/?p=3840I recently took a little solo trip to Bray, a small coastal town south of Dublin. There I did the “Bray Cliff Walk,” a 6km hike along the ocean that leads you to the neighboring town of Greystones. The next day I went to Glendalough National Park to hike in the Wicklow mountains. At the base of the trail there’s an old monastery (built sometime between 900-1200 A.D) founded by St. Kevin.

I took my little Fuji along with me. Here are some of the photographs.

]]>http://www.theperennialplate.com/blog/hunter/2016/09/irish-landscapes/feed/5http://www.theperennialplate.com/blog/hunter/2016/09/irish-landscapes/A Night at the Pubhttp://feedproxy.google.com/~r/ThePerennialPlateBlog/~3/84fBqVWW9C0/
http://www.theperennialplate.com/blog/hunter/2016/09/a-night-at-the-pub/#respondSun, 18 Sep 2016 22:04:17 +0000http://www.theperennialplate.com/?p=3827Since arriving to Ireland I’d been wanting to have a traditional pub experience. I asked James, the owner of the house where we are staying, (not to be confused with the baby), if there was a good pub to visit in the nearby town of Athy. “What night is it… Thursday?” he asked me. It was. “Oh, go to Clancy’s. You’re in for a treat. There’s music.”

So, Daniel and I went.

When we got to Clancys we first, (of course), ordered a couple of pints of Guinness at the bar. Then we walked to a back room where the music was already in full swing. Nearly twenty energetic locals all played and sang together in a tiny room decorated with living room furniture and fixtures. Sheet music of traditional Irish folk songs plastered the walls. Fiddles, banjos, flutes, harmonicas, and accordions all played enthusiastically in unison. It was crowded. In fact the room was so packed with people playing that there was only seating for about five spectators. Daniel and I lucked out and got some seats. We sat, listened, and drank our ales completely engrossed in the lovely cultural experience.

Every five songs or so one person would volunteer to sing a tune over a quiet guitar or mandolin. Even the most unsuspecting individuals took the reigns. I’m not sure if I was more impressed by their passionate vocals or their unabashed approach to public singing.

This year Clancy’s celebrates 50 straight years of folk music sessions every Thursday. They haven’t missed one week. While I’m here, I hope not to miss one either.